Tenderized And Socialized: Mourning The Loss Of Our Favourite Businesses
The Saturday Huddle is a weekly column that features opinion, analysis and reflections on Huddle stories, podcasts and business news in the region. Derek Montague is Huddle reporter based in Halifax.
I’ve been writing for Huddle for nearly two years now. In fact, my first day on the job would have been merely a week or so before society as we knew it shut down suddenly due to Covid-19.
I have written countless stories on the business impact of this awful pandemic; at Huddle, the struggles of the economy and of business owners have been well documented.
The worst-case scenario in many of these stories is when a business announces it must close for good. It’s bad news for the owner, the laid-off employees, the city, and the economy.
But recently I was reminded about another severely affected group I had totally ignored: the customers and loyal patrons.
I am a sentimental and nostalgic old fart – quite the curse (or blessing, maybe?). I have vivid memories of my glory days as though they were yesterday. And when reminded of the past, I receive a flood of emotions. It’s just a part of who I am.
I went back to Labrador, where I grew up, over the holidays. And, as my brother was driving me to the airport, we had to pass all the old bars I used to haunt. I noticed a lot of changes. Legends, where I used to have pre-drinks and beat people at pool on Fridays has long been called Krazy Dave’s, while McNally’s, where I used to party on New Year’s Eve, was boarded up and discarded.
None of these changes really affected me until I came across a sign that read Da Shed Pub. This one really took me aback. For eons, this place was called Tenders and it was the best place to party in Labrador on a Friday night in the mid-2000s.
If you were part of the cool group, like me, you referred to going to Tenders on Friday as getting “Tenderized.”
During my Tenders heyday, some of the most popular songs to dance to were Hollaback Girl, Maneater, Say it Right, and I don’t Feel Like Dancing.
In many ways, the atmosphere at Tenders on a Friday night was a much-needed contrast to my typical Labrador experience. If you live in Labrador, you must accept a certain degree of isolation and all the other challenges that come with rural, remote, living.
I never did well with the isolation or the other challenges; I always felt I was a city boy at heart.
The universe decided to have a good laugh at my expense by birthing me in the exact opposite place I was meant to live in. But everything felt different on Friday night. In my memories, Tenders in the mid-2000s, located in a town of fewer than 8,000 people, could compete with any major nightclub in any major city.
I remember one summer night when I was 20, I visited Tenders with no intention of staying. I was chatting outside with the young man who ran the club’s barbeque when a young woman stepped out of a taxi.
Now, when you live in a rural area you know pretty much everyone, and this was someone none of us had ever seen before. She was a head-turner with a 1000-watt smile. The first thing she wanted to know was what time would everyone arrive and start dancing.
I won’t bore you with the details, but after meeting this charming and energetic young woman my plans quickly changed. I gave the bartender my car keys and danced the whole night away with this stranger from the big city.
The best thing about these Friday nights was they had the right mix of friends, familiar faces, and newcomers. Every party needs a combination of those three groups.
I also remember just an overall sense of joy when we got together at this club. Everyone dancing, laughing, taking pictures, and everyone taking turns buying a round of tequila shots.
And while it’s been well over a decade since I stepped on that dance floor and got “Tenderized,” I still got a bit emotional when I saw the name change.
It also reminded me of another recent loss close to my heart as a patron. This past November, the UNB Alumni announced that the Social Club in Fredericton was the latest victim of Covid-19.
For many who attended UNB and St. Thomas, this was shockingly sad news. As a student at STU, the Social Club was my favourite hangout for me and my friends.
Because I rarely had Friday classes, it was usually my job to go to the Social Club early and save a big table before they were all taken away. That was one of the things I loved about the place: it always reminded you of how many friends you’ve made at university. By the time the early evening came around, there could easily be two dozen of us in our group, taking up a couple of tables.
While my time at Tenders was a celebration of youthful exuberance, good looks, and endless energy, I feel the Social Club was a celebration of friendship. Unlike the former, the Social Club was more of a sit-down atmosphere, where you chatted with your company and played trivia.
What I remember most about those afternoons at the Social Club was the smiles and laughter -the sounds of sheer joy with everyone could gather under one roof.
When the same group of people does the same thing, in the same place long enough, little traditions form as well.
Then there was the little tradition I created on my own that my friends just LOVED (sarcasm intended). As the night wore on I would take cubes of ice out of my drink and start karate chopping them, sending bits of ice flying in all directions. I would keep doing this until my hand bled.
If you’re confused over my motivation for such a thing; sometimes you don’t ask, you just accept.
But my favourite thing about those evenings is the pictures that were taken. Unlike Tenders, my Social Club years were captured during the Facebook era, so they still remain to this day. They are the most candid photos I have.
That’s because our table of friends was always so long that only the front portion of people knew a picture was being taken and would pose for the camera. Those in the back had no idea. Looking at those photos now, it makes me smile seeing those in the background in mid-conversation, laughing and smiling.
As this pandemic keeps rolling along, more businesses like the two I mentioned will bite the dust. It’s perfectly okay to feel sadness as a patron and to mourn the loss of these establishments.
Always remember that home is people, not a place. Therefore, the businesses we frequent, and the people who frequent them with us, make up a part of our home.
If you’re sentimental and nostalgic like me, there’s no shame in shedding a few tears over losing that sense of home over the past two years.